Red Notice

100

Gavin was still making arrangements for the Yankees’ reception. At some stage the hostages were going to be coming down that tunnel and they were going to meet Jockey, with the Blue and Red teams, at the entrance to the service tunnel. They’d be the initial link in the escape chain — if Laszlo was telling the truth.

He glanced up as Ashton strode across to his desk. He pointed at Gavin’s mobile. ‘Is Tom’s phone on that?’

Gavin shook his head. ‘Boss, I want to call him as much as you do. But we can’t. We need to know what the fuck is happening down there, but we can’t risk compromising him. We haven’t a clue where he is. We haven’t a clue what he’s doing. If his iPhone rings, he could be fucked. We have to wait for him to call us. He knows the re-broadcasters are up. In the meantime, I’m not going to be the one to take that risk. We just have to wait.’

Jockey’s voice kicked off over the speakers. ‘Alpha, Blue One, we have the first Yankees coming into the service tunnel. The first lot are coming out now.’

Gavin grabbed the radio handset. ‘Roger that, Blue One. How many?’

‘A dozen so far — maybe more. Wait…’

Jockey kept his pressel down for a few more seconds. Gavin could hear screams, shouts and a few sobs as the team dragged the Yankees into the service tunnel; the trick was to calm them and grip them at the same time. Jockey shouted, ‘It’s going to be all right. You’re safe now — just wait there.’

The net went dead. He’d have taken his hand off the pressel. He came back on a few seconds later. ‘It’s got to be a hundred plus, so far.’

‘Alpha, roger that. Out.’

Gavin went straight over to the Slime’s desk. ‘Tell the police ops room they’re coming out. Tell them to get them out of the tunnel ASAP in case we have to go in again.’

Ashton leaned forward and opened Gavin’s mobile. He hit B on his contacts list, found the number he wanted and keyed it into his own phone.

The major moved away from the desk and out of the hangar. He turned immediately right through the shutters and kept walking until he was out of sight. Emergency vehicles and personnel buzzed around the front of the tunnel ahead of him.

The mobile rang five times before it was answered. ‘Yes?’

He’d have known that voice anywhere. ‘What the fuck are you playing at? I warned you so you could get away, not hang around and start the Third World War.’

The silence echoed in Ashton’s head.

‘Calm down, my very English friend. I’m eternally grateful for what you did. But I think it’s true to say that you still owe me enormously.’

Ashton wasn’t having any of this cool, calm and collected bullshit. ‘Fuck the friend bit, you psychopath. What the hell are you playing at?’

Laszlo responded with a theatrical sigh. ‘Marcus, we’ve helped each other very much indeed over the years. I scratched your back in Georgia, and you scratched mine in Hampstead. Things have gone very well for both of us. It would be a shame for this to end in tears. So I need you to do whatever you can out there to make sure my brother and I escape from this hole in the ground. If you do not, I need hardly remind you of the embarrassment I could cause you and your less than blameless fellow countrymen. What it boils down to is this: are you with me or are you against me?’

Ashton turned to face the hangar wall. The wind gusted, raising the short hairs on the back of his neck. Finally he muttered, ‘With you, of course.’

‘Excellent. We must get together, after this is all over.’ He gave a chuckle. ‘For old times’ sake.’

The line went dead.

Ashton stared at the screen with the kind of intensity he would have employed had Laszlo been there in the flesh. The South Ossetian held the key to unlocking his complex past, and the past was an ever-present danger to Ashton’s future.

The Antonov balancing act had taken care and skill. But his two most recent texted warnings, to Hampstead and the train, had had only one objective. Laszlo must not, under any circumstances, be taken alive.